The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend)

by Liz Talley

  “You don’t get an opinion, missy,” Carla said, breathing hard. In her dark eyes, John saw a hurt so deep it might never be healed. Turning away from Shelby, Carla jabbed her finger at him. “I came to warn you that there are repercussions to actions.”

  “Warn me?”

  “You remember the day I told you that you could stay at Breezy Hill? I meant it that day. You’ve proven a good caretaker of the land, but if you persist in shacking up with this two-bit hussy—”

  “I’m at least three bits,” Shelby shouted, her cheeks flushed. Dread knotted inside him, but that didn’t stop him from noticing her breasts moving up and down with her quickened breaths. The woman was magnificent when angry.

  Carla’s gave a bitter laugh. “Fine, have it your way...a three-bit whore.”

  Shelby crossed her arms, spilling a little of her tea, and nodded. “Thanks. Three bits is better, and honestly, I’d rather be a whore than a miserable, broken old woman who can’t see past the end of her own nose. At least whores aren’t selfish cows.”

  Carla opened and shut her mouth several times before ripping her gaze from Shelby and fixing it on him. “You understand, don’t you, John? This land, this house, all you have loved for well over a decade is at risk. You have a choice to make.”

  “Don’t do this, Carla,” he said. “Let’s talk next week. Don’t go off half-cocked, making assumptions. Moving forward is always hard. It’s been hard on me, too.”

  The older woman’s eyes flicked from him to Shelby, as icy as the December morning outside the door. “Doesn’t look so hard for you. My eyes work rather well.”

  “But not your heart,” Shelby said, her words falling like hot lead on a cold battlefront.

  Carla made a noise in the back of her throat and spun toward the front door. “I shouldn’t have come. Should have left well enough alone, leaving the cards to fall where they may. I was trying to be generous and give you another chance. My little Christmas gift to you.”

  “Wait, Carla,” he said, not knowing what to do to make the situation better. He’d never thought Carla would take Breezy Hill from him. The place had been essentially his since Hal had passed away eight years ago. Of course, essentially wasn’t the same as legally. And that’s all that mattered in the courts. He’d actually thought that once Carla got past the shock of Shelby, she’d be happy for him. But he’d been way off base, and in the time he’d spent getting to know Shelby, Carla’s initial anger had knitted into something ugly. Instead of accepting, she’d put her energy into making him pay for wanting to love again. “Think about what you’re doing. This isn’t like you.”

  She whirled, tears in her eyes. “You think about what you’re doing. This is Stanton land. This is the house where Rebecca grew up.” Carla pointed at the stairs. “The third step is where she fell and cracked her tooth, and that piano is where she sat and picked out the first strands of ‘The Entertainer,’ and that coffee table is where she stood and danced to ’N Sync when she was fifteen. So don’t tell me to think. You’re desecrating her memory by screwing that woman in the bed you shared with my daughter, you bastard.”

  She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll dissolve the trust and sell this place before I let you be happy here with her.” She didn’t say more. Just clamped her mouth shout, stalked to the door and walked out. She didn’t even bother to close the door behind her.

  For several seconds John stared at the empty space. Finally, Shelby walked over and closed the door, the snick of the latch like thunder in the room.

  John sank back on the couch. “Well, Merry Christmas to me.”

  “Wow, she’s really mad,” Shelby said, leaning against the door with a sigh. “When I told her I was living here, I poked her with a stick.”

  “I never thought she’d go to such lengths. I knew being with you would be hard for her, but I didn’t think it would make her want to destroy me.”

  “We’ve got a lot stacked against us,” Shelby said, her hand shaking as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips. “You want to trash the idea of dating? Maybe I should find a place in town...or go back to Seattle for a while.”

  “No. I’m not letting Carla or anyone else keep me in the past. Last year was the worst year of my life, and Carla’s anger isn’t destroying what I’ve found with you. Rebecca would have wanted me to be happy.”

  “I think so, too,” Shelby said with a strange look on her face. “You know, everybody remembers Rebecca as such an angel, but the grieving heart looks on lost loved ones with forgiving eyes. They forget they were once human. Rebecca wasn’t perfect, but she loved you. And when you love someone, you want them to be happy. So whatever that is, John, you will have to decide. But your wife wouldn’t have begrudged you happiness. I know her a little.”

  John turned Shelby’s words over in his mind, weighing if they were said with any intent to sway him. They weren’t. Even if Shelby weren’t in the picture, the words would be true. Rebecca wasn’t perfect, but she’d been a good person, who’d loved him enough to want his happiness. “How do you know her a little?”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s very much a part of this house. I find little notes she’s written, like the recipe for blackening seasoning taped to the inside of a cabinet door, and there are certain ways things are organized, but most of all I know because I read some of her journal.”

  “Read her journal?”

  Shelby’s face turned red. “I tried to give it to you, and then when I saw Carla at the market, I tried to tell her about it. But no one wanted it, and I was lonely and...it was wrong of me, but I’m not sorry.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He remembered Shelby trying to give him the journal the day he’d watched her sleeping in those polka-dot panties. Before that time, he’d never known Rebecca had kept a journal. Just how personal was it? “You shouldn’t have—”

  “I know. I can’t unread it, but my point is Rebecca is no longer a phantom, an unknown entity I have to compete with—”

  “Why would you think you have to compete?”

  “Don’t you remember my past? I’ve competed with unknown women two other times, and there was no way for me to know your wife beyond other people’s memories. I know it was wrong. I tried to stop, but it was like hiding chocolate from myself when I’m on a diet.”

  He looked at her with no words. Part of him felt betrayed, the other half wondered if Rebecca had done for him what he could never do—teach Shelby about what a committed relationship looked like. Wasn’t always sunshine and daisies.

  “Rebecca wouldn’t want you to be as miserable as you were. She loved you that much.”

  John leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to flirting in the kitchen. Before Carla arrived to stomp on his happiness.

  I’ll dissolve the trust and sell this place before I let you be happy here.

  Those words punched a hole in his resolve.

  Lose Breezy Hill? The thought sickened him. He’d poured every ounce of energy and love into the land, not to mention most of the profits on upkeep, the new barn and a new harvester. If he didn’t have Breezy Hill, who was he?

  He rose and picked up the remnants of last night’s stay-at-home date. “I think we should put worry on the back burner. Today is Christmas Day, a time for presents and my mom’s pecan pie. I can do nothing about Carla today, and as for the journal...” He shrugged. He didn’t know if he was ready to read Rebecca’s words. Reading the journal could pull him back into that lonely painful place he’d occupied for too long.

  Shelby tried to smile. “You wanna try my breakfast casserole?”

  “The one made by a three-bit whore?”

  Shelby threw a pillow at him. “I’m upping myself to a whole four bits.”

  Carla’s warning had the opposite effect on him, solidifying how good Shelby was for him.
He couldn’t go back to the man he was last year. Too late. He’d moved toward Shelby.

  But not all was lost.

  Carla’s grief may have made her irrational, but maybe he could convince her that letting go of the anger was the only chance she had to be happy again. “Four bits, huh? Guess I better start saving my pennies.”

  * * *

  CHRISTMAS DINNER AT the Beauchamps was anticlimactic compared to the Christmas Eve bash with John’s uncle booming out a Weather Girls’ classic and Fancy getting a little sloshed and doing some dance she’d learned online with said uncle. The turkey was a little dry, according to the gassy aunt, and the sweet potatoes were delicious, even if there was a marshmallow topping. In Seattle, they called them yams, but in the South, things were different. No mashed potatoes or asparagus with a crown pork roast. No sparkling champagne, no light conversation about the latest in art nouveau cinema or Pulitzer-prize-winning documentaries.

  In other words, Beauchamp Christmas dinner was fattening and enjoyable, even if they did yell a lot at the football game on TV.

  After dinner, the family exchanged gifts, and Shelby received a hand-knitted scarf and book of poetry from Abigail, a teacher mug and gift card from Matt and Mary Jane, some body lotion and scrub from Jake and a lovely embroidered pillow with her initials from John’s parents. She’d reciprocated with like gifts, the kind you get for people you really don’t know well enough—candles, bath salts, cashmere gloves.

  Even though he smiled throughout the time at his parents’ house, John looked worried. Carla’s visit that morning had complicated things. Maybe dating wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it was time to stop putting her life on pause, nurturing hope she and John could be more, and look at the reality of the situation. If they continued on the path they walked, it was a real possibility John could lose all he’d known.

  When they returned to Breezy Hill, John lit a fire and poured himself a glass of wine and Shelby a glass of sparkling cider. The logs crackled and hissed in the hearth.

  “This is nice,” he said, settling beside her, just as he had the night before.

  “It is,” she said, staring into the flames.

  “Did you enjoy today?”

  “I did...other than the visit from Carla Stanton this morning.”

  He grew still but said nothing.

  “I don’t want you to have to choose. It’s not fair, because you never asked for any of this. You’ve been kind—”

  “I wanted you to stay. I needed you to stay. Don’t you get that?” He attempted to smile through his worry.

  “Even if I went back to Seattle I would never deny you access to your child.”

  “This is about more than the baby. You know that,” he said as he rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, we still have a few hours left of Christmas Day and I don’t want to talk about anything unpleasant. Here.” John pulled a slender jeweler’s box from his pocket.

  “What is this?” she asked, letting go of the worry and embracing the concept of enjoying the moment.

  “I didn’t have time to go into town, so I ordered this for you,” he said, handing her the box. Something about his uncertainty touched her.

  “You didn’t have to—” she began.

  “I wanted to. You’re far away from family. And you’re important to me.”

  Shelby slid the red bow off and pulled the gold foil paper from the box. Lifting the lid, she found a beautiful gold charm bracelet. Three charms hung on the bracelet. One was an S chipped with diamond rhinestones, the other was a small gold pacifier and the final one was a heart with the word Mother written in script. “Oh, John, it’s lovely.”

  “You can add to it as the baby grows,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I hope it’s not too—”

  Shelby silenced him with her mouth.

  He gathered her to him, deepening the kiss, stroking his tongue against hers in an unhurried, thorough kiss.

  Shelby drew back. “It’s perfect, and I don’t think I’ve ever received something so thoughtful.”

  “Good.” He smiled, settling back on the couch, snuggling her against him as the fire caught and blazed. Pressing the remote on the table, White Christmas came on the satellite TV.

  “I have a gift for you, too,” she said, not moving because the warmth he lent allowed strange contentment to seep into her bones.

  “Do you?” he asked, twining his finger in her hair, also seemingly relaxed for the first time since Carla’s untimely visit.

  “Let me get it,” she said.

  “Later,” he murmured, not releasing his hold on her. “This feels too good.”

  She smiled, unwound his finger from her curl and went to the tree, pulling out the large flat box wrapped in brown paper. She set it in his lap. “Here.”

  The light from the hearth threw flickering shadows over his face. “This is a big gift.”

  “For a big man.”

  “Oh, you remembered,” he said.

  His naughty joke made her snort. In all honesty, she didn’t remember much about that night in Boots. He could have been a gherkin for all she knew. “Keep talking and you’ll be digging out that money.”

  He looked confused.

  “The four bits,” she teased.

  “That’s right. Your price went up,” he said, pulling the string off the gift. Carefully unwrapping the paper, he lifted the framed picture.

  “It’s Breezy Hill,” he said, incredulity in his voice.

  She could see her gift hit the mark. One of her friends from college was an artist. One morning when the sky had been soft and the sun peeked out over the cane fields, she’d taken a few snapshots and sent them to him. The painting he’d done had a hazy quality that softened the picture with smudged edges. The house sat prominent against the gray-green of the cane, backlit by the emerging sunrise. “I call it ‘A Breezy Morning.’”

  He ran a hand over the line of the roof. “It’s...I don’t have words.”

  “Sometimes it’s okay not to have words.”

  He placed the picture on the table and gathered her in his arms, dropping small kisses across her cheeks before covering her mouth with his. It was a good kiss.

  A toe-curling kiss.

  A kiss to build a future on.

  But still there was so much between them.

  When he let her go, she looked up at him and murmured, “I like how you don’t use words.”

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. And then and there on the couch of Breezy Hill, she experienced something she’d felt only once before in her life.

  She fell in love.

  It wasn’t an epiphany, bells didn’t sound and an angelic chorus didn’t sing. It just...was.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, fighting back the sudden prick of tears.

  He settled her back against him. “New Year’s Eve is around the corner. Might be a good time for our first official date.”

  “Can you take the time off?”

  “If I work hard this week, I can manage it.”

  Shelby smiled. “Good. I already made us a reservation.”

  “Oh?”

  She hesitated for a moment. After this morning, she hadn’t been sure they should take their relationship to the next level. Carla’s ultimatum sat between them, and Shelby had meant what she said—she wouldn’t make John choose—but she wasn’t going to give up on John. “At August in New Orleans. I also booked a suite at Windsor Court in case we drink too much and don’t want to drive back.”

  “I’m pretty sure you won’t drink too much. You’re pregnant.”

  “Even so I’m pretty sure you won’t want to drive back,” she said, underlining her words with suggestiveness.

  He didn’t say anything, but then he pushed her back as if to rise.


  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going out to work right now. I’m going to need a full twenty-four hours off if you mean what I think you mean.”

  Shelby pulled him back, settling herself again in his arms. “Silly man, but I expect you better bring those four bits. I foresee us having to look for my underwear at some point during the night.”

  John dropped a kiss atop her head.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CARLA STOOD OUTSIDE her patio home in the cool wind, surveying the white narcissus that had sprung up too early.

  She loved seeing them explode in the window boxes in February. Damn things were noncompliant. Just like everyone else in her life. Dim Sum frolicked under the pin oak, which still shed leaves and harbored a few frisky squirrels.

  “Carla?”

  She turned to find John standing behind her. “John.”

  No surprise there. She knew he’d come. He was a man who thought his words could sway.

  “Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

  “No, just fussing at flowers that ignore the fact it’s too early to sprout,” she said, brushing the dirt from her hands and motioning toward her porch. “Let’s get out of this wind.”

  John had come from the fields. She could smell the cane on him, and the scent brought back memories of Hal coming home smelling of a hard day’s work laced with the pungent sweet scent of the cane. Like a gentleman, John allowed her to pass, and she climbed the stairs slower than she wished, and settled in the wicker rocker.

  John took the corresponding rocker, clasping his big hands between his knees. His tanned face crinkled in thought. “You know why I’m here.”

  “I do. You think you can change my mind.”

  “This has been hard, Carla.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” she said, looking out at the dog circling the tree. “Come here, Dim Sum.”

  The dog ignored her. She should have gotten a bitch rather than a male. Stubborn and unyielding in nature, Dim Sum was a credit to his gender. The dog ignored Carla and did whatever the hell he wanted.